J. A. Stroud a.k.a. GlassPoet.
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Her shoulders aching from her day, her mind in a blur, she begins to just type out the responses she knows they all want to hear ... read ... visualize. It doesn't even touch her any longer. Just words on a screen to faces unseen.
Sometimes.
She's the therapist, the confidant, the sex toy and the friend. She is the Aunt and the Sister ... and with some, even the Mother. She gives advice about the new puppy, or the wife that is distant. She listens to a girl talk about her boyfriend and all that they are going through. She asks about new births and recent deaths, and the new move to South Carolina. Inquires about the weather in BC and the Isle of Man. She keeps herself so busy ... too busy to even think.
Once in a great while someone will come along that makes her stop and take serious notice. Listen from the heart and soul of herself ... causing her to think and feel and act and react ... and reality comes glaring back into focus.
Safety? Is that why she is here? This WEB, this NET she plays in, is safe for her?
Hardly. This medium has brought her to tears, made her laugh from her toes, taught her how to look beyond the words that some post in anonymity and see a greater need. Here, in this forum of words and thought and lies and deceptions and heartaches ... are some genuinely good people. Most are lonely and looking for an ear to hear, a shoulder to lean on ... a connection, to something greater then their own lives. Others come to escape
...and now...all these hours later, having tried so hard to wrap this up ... she is so exhausted, without nourishment, the wine having been finished ... the ashtray full......and she is once again reminded why she is here.
Synchronicity.